Discovered
by Hope You Will Always Stay
Summary: The Nordics found America first when he was no more than a child, alone in the wilderness of his own land. After years together, their little family gets torn apart when other Europeans come to the New World seeking land and colonies. Now, in modern times, Alfred begins to have strange dreams. (A rewrite of original Discovered.)
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia ;)_**

 ** _Lmao, I missed this story but also cringed at my shitty writing so here we are. This'll basically be a re-write of the original Discovered with quality craftsmanship (lol), better word choice, new scenes, and fewer plot holes. Let's proceed, shall we?_**

* * *

Finland heard the boy before he actually saw him. The sound of rusting startled him from his map, Tino looking up with a darting gaze to find the source of the noise. It fell on the bushed, a child encased in the surrounding brush, staring back at him with bright blue eyes. A gasp slipping from his lips, he automatically offered a hand towards the boy who looked at him in fear.

"No, no." He kept his voice calm, a hushed whisper like one he'd use to approach a wounded animal, "Do not be afraid, child. I will not hurt you."

The child merely frightened, turning and fleeing like a scared colt. He left behind nothing but rustling leaves and the potent aura of a personification. The child was one of them, he could tell. Nations and colonies, any personification really, had the same distinct feeling as all the others. It was a tug to his gut, a primal sense he couldn't explain, but ultimately he knew. The boy was likely the land he currently stood on, this New World waiting to be discovered, and deep in himself, he felt responsible. He was likely the first adult the child had seen, as very few nations ended up having parents in the form of a fallen empire that came before them. England and his brothers were a rare exception, with Britannia sticking around long enough to ruin her supposed children emotionally.

His own predecessor, Scandinavia, had passed the moment he, Sweden, and Denmark had come into existence. They weren't related, not like the Italians or the British, but they had been sticking together since they were small so they managed to call themselves a family. France, Belgium, and Luxembourg had never met the former owner of their lands, a foreboding woman called Gaul, either, and only Prussia could remember the stern Germania. Neither Rome nor Greece had lived long enough to leave a lasting impression on their successors, and it probably would have been for the best if Kievan Rus had left this world before digging her claws into Russia and his sisters. Egypt was the only nation he could think of that had _fond_ memories of their parental figure, which explained why he staunchly kept to her traditions.

China…pausing, Tino blinked when he realized that China really had no antecedent.

This boy likely had no one to call mother or father, no place to call home. He was reduced to wondering the forest, probably finding only scraps to eat. Tino remembered his own childhood vaguely, the time spent wandering through the snow and ice, shivering and alone, until he knocked into Berwald and Mathias, and eventually Emil and Lukas. A fierce fire lit itself under his feet, and he promised himself he'd raise an actually stable nation with no horrific childhood trauma. A rare thing, what with the bloody and violent empires being all the Old World had to model itself after.

The next encounter he had with the boy, Berwald stood next to him in a clearing much like the one where he'd first met the personification. The boy came barreling out of the surrounding trees, distracted, but startling like a frightened deer when he came face to face with the two elder nations. Now that Tino could see him clearly, he saw the boy's hair was the same shade as Mathias's, and his eyes were Berwald's blue. His skin was much darker than any of the Nordics, but Tino supposed it was bound to happen. When the skin was exposed to the sun it often darkened, and all the boy did was run around outside.

"It's him." Tino muttered, looking at Berwald with urgency, "You see what I mean? He's one of us."

Berwald merely nodded and took a cautious step towards the child who stood frozen before them. He held his gloved hands up, almost in a position of surrender, and gave a clumsy smile Berwald rarely graced anyone with to the boy. Watery blue eyes surveyed him for a moment before tears began to slip down his cheeks and his mouth began to wobble.

"N', don't cry," Berwald spoke quietly, approaching the boy with deft steps and offering a hand as an olive branch of sorts. The boy halted his sniffling to observe it for a moment, a spark of fear still present in his eyes, before he hesitantly placed his much smaller hand in Berwald's much larger one.

Tino let out a strangled noise, stepping forward slowly to reach and touch the boy on the shoulder. Kneeling down, he smiled at the boy and tapped his chest where his heart would be, "Family."

The boy merely blinked at him and withdrew his hand from Berwald's, offering them both to Tino with a pleading look in his gaze. Melting, the Finnish man gripped the boy in a tight hug, looking at Berwald over his shoulder, "We're responsible for him."

"Yes." Was the only response he got, but he could see some protectiveness in the Swede's gaze as well.

"His name? He'll need one when we introduce him to the others." Tino felt the boy relax against him further, and when a small snore escaped the child he knew he was asleep. Heart bursting, he allowed himself to regard the small blond head nestled in his shoulder with a smile before returning his gaze to Berwald.

"Noak?" Was the name offered, but Tino just continued to consider the child.

"Leif would suit, as would Erik. Perhaps Ari or Eelis."

Berwald gently touched the boy's hair, light and ruffled like the feathers of a befuddled bird, and smiled, "Ari. Suits 'im."

The child leaned into Tino further, burrowing into his self-proclaimed guardian, and the Finn just smiled, "Then it shall be. Come, we need to introduce him to the others."

* * *

 _ **A/N: So, there we are. I changed Alfred's name because Alfred is more of an English name whereas Ari is apparently an Ancient Scandinavian name meaning 'eagle' in Old Norse. I thought it was fitting, seeing as he's being raised by the Nordic countries and I also really like the foreshadowing with that name to be perfectly honest.**_

 _ **Expanded some, and offered some backstory as to why literally every nation at that time was pretty fucked up war wise. Hope you guys enjoyed this, I'm more than happy to be back on this theme as I loved it to death!**_


	2. Memories

**_Chapter 1: Memories_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia._**

 ** _A/N: Aaand here we are again!_**

* * *

 _"Ari, missä olet?"_ ("Ari, where are you?") ** _  
_**

 _The voice speaking the familiar words was warm, like a fuzzy blanket or the heat from a fireplace, a stark contrast to the snow falling gently from the sky. Landing along treetops, it was shaken loose as a man pushed aside the barren branched to enter the clearing. He dressed simply, a dark blue tunic over a lighter undershirt. His pants tucked into old deerskin boots, and a grey wolf pelt hung from his shoulders. The belt around his waist cinching the tunic denoted wealth, Alfred was sure. It was blue fabric edged with gold, a fine piece of craftsmanship with a golden chain holding a wooden ax charm hanging from it._

 _The man was familiar in general, and Alfred knew he'd seen him before. Pale blonde hair, bright violet eyes, and skin nearly as pale as the snow all looked far too close to something just outside the grasp of his memory._

 _"Ari, missä olet?" He was more demanding this time, folding his arms and sending a dry gaze across the clearing, "Nyt."_ ("Now.")

 _There was a puff of snow sent sailing through the air as a small figure popped up from the ground. A boy, tanned cheeks red from the biting cold, with bright blue eyes and wheat colored hair. He looked exactly like what Alfred remembered of himself from portraits England had commissioned when he was growing up. Eyebrows drawing together, he watched the scene play out before him with a morbid type of curiosity. He remembered nothing prior to meeting England; far too young and far too naïve in his childhood. That changed quickly, he thought grimly as he watched the man whisk the boy out of the snow in an instant._

 _"Olen täällä, isä!"_ ("I'm here, papa!") _The boy giggled, tugging on the wolf furs that adorned the man's shoulders._

 _Isä, as in father? Heart sinking in his chest, Alfred knew this boy wasn't him. He had no mother or father, no true family. Arthur had adopted him as a brother of sorts, but they'd never been as close as Matthew and Francis. Alfred had been the black sheep of the family since his revolution, even though the others would never admit it. He knew it in the way they kept secrets and had private outings, but the American just shrugged it off. He was used to being alone, anyways, so what was new?_

 _The man fretted over the child, brushing the snow from his golden hair and wrapping a small cloak around the boy's shoulders. The man the child called father was so familiar, but each time the memory was in Alfred's grasp it slipped away like water in his hands. He just couldn't hold onto it, yet it hung in the back of his mind like a beaming neon sign._

 _The man laughed as he bundled the child up before, the sound like a ghost, and he carried the boy away coddled in his arms._

 _Alfred scrambled to go after them, following the footprints in the snow and bursting through the trees. Four others stood a bit away, the man calling out and waving at them to get their attention. He tried to follow, to lift his feet and race towards answers, but he was stopped. Glue to the ground, he couldn't do anything but watch._

 _"Wait!" He yelled out, hoping to get their attention, "Who are you? Wait, hey, wait!"_

 _But the man just retreated to the others waiting for him, eventually becoming nothing more than a figure in the snow. The wind blew around him, and for a moment the snow was gone and a bright forest stared back at him, green leaves swaying in the breeze. He could smell leather and wild onions and spice, a faint smoky smell rising up behind it all._

 _"Waniska, okosimâw."_

* * *

He woke up to see his ceiling, the white of it looking bland and dull and he sat up, a hollow feeling permeating the room. His chest felt like it had caved in, nothing beating where his heart was supposed to be. Going through the motions, he dressed quickly and was out of his house quicker, the numbers six forty-five blinking on his clock, taunting him on his way out. The meeting began at seven.

The air was cold outside, and he could feel the chill under his dress shirt and bomber jacket but ignored it in favor of breathing in polluted breaths. The air smelled like exhaust and fumes right outside his apartment, and if he was lucky there'd be a street vendor or food truck there to waft the smell of pretzels or hotdogs in his direction. New York; his home, his heart. Breaking into the semi-bustle of the morning, secretly dreading how awful it would be by noon, he forced himself through the throngs of people in the direction of the meeting hall about ten blocks down the street.

When he arrived, he crammed into the elevator and pushed the button for the twenty-second floor. People got on and off on his way up, and he figured he was running late because there were no other nations in sight. He rushed out the doors when they opened and he realized that he was, in fact, quite late. The room was already filled to the brim, Germany preparing the first presentation, and almost every seat was taken. They were never assigned, but everyone usually had their set places they didn't budge from. His was between Canada and England, but today France had at there as it appeared Liechtenstein had taken his usual seat between England and Japan. Alfred understood why he didn't push for his seat; no one in their right mind would demand the small, kind country to move.

Tragically for Alfred, the only other seats happened to be between Russia and Lithuania and Finland and Norway. Sending a mental pray for Toris, he practically dove for the seat between the two Nordic nations. Like hell he would subject himself to being anywhere near Russia for any good length of time.

He sat quietly, opening his briefcase and not even earning a sideways glance from the nations beside him. It was nice compared to all the other hostile and hateful looks thrown his way.

"What, no McDonald's today?" Southern Italy scoffed not-so-quietly about the abomination to the culinary arts that fast food was.

He kept his famous Hollywood smile firmly in place, remembering how Martha had once ruffled his hair and told him he had a beautiful smile after she became First Lady. He made sure to smile more after that, and always made it a bit wider in her presence. Even now, hundreds of years later, the old habit he'd had as he hung off her skirts as nothing but a childish boy fighting for freedom remained. He wrenched his mind from the matronly figure he'd grown to love as a substitute mother and kept his eyes trained on Germany who had begun the meeting.

"England, you're first to present on the schedule." He leveled a stern look at the island nation, "You're ready?"

Arthur nodded and gathered his papers, laying them all out on the podium as he looked out at the crowd of nations in front of him. Clearing his throat, he shot a frown towards America before beginning. Alfred sighed, leaning back in his chair. Usually when he got that look nothing good came of it.

"I'm sure we're all aware that there is a rising problem in tourism nowadays. Not in the tourism itself, but rather the disruptions that can be a result of it. Often times, citizens of a foreign country will be uneducated of the customs or language and commit an embarrassing social blunder or even break a law they never knew existed. Naturally, this can cause international incidents and increase animosity the natives feel towards visitors, which is the last thing anyone wants."

"Wow, I wonder who he's talking about?" Cuba snickered slightly, not halted in the slightest by the glare he received from Canada.

"Is that a question?" China counted sardonically, raising a thin eyebrow and looking right at the American nation across the table.

Sighing, Alfred resigned himself to tapping his foot in impatience and wishing the damn meeting was over already. He still had to go Christmas shopping, after all, and he needed to get some names checked off his list. It was only, tragically, November, but he could never be too early at shopping. He ignored the snark being passed around the table and focused again on his elder brother as the Englishman cleared his throat.

"Now, this is not to call any nation out-"

"Sure it's not." Russia giggled slightly, sending a venomous look towards Alfred.

" _And_ may I remind you, Russia, that it is not socially acceptable to walk around Hyde Park brandishing a pipe at my citizens like a baseball bat." Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man, "Every single country has an issue with tourism despite the massive benefits-"

Alfred tuned out halfway through whatever Arthur continued with; he was secretly quite happy he'd been defended by his elder brother this time. Usually Matthew was the only one who gave two shits about his feelings, so it was a pleasant surprise. Now, if only they'd stop kicking him out on every fucking holiday and maybe come over to celebrate his birthday for once. Maybe that was asking too much, though.

As the presentation drew to a close and the meeting continued on, everyone slowly lost interest until Germany eventually gave up and called it a day. Clipping his notes together, Alfred crammed them in his briefcase and turned around only to come face-to-face with Cuba himself.

The nation sniffed, "It's a shame your citizens are so shitty England has to make a whole presentation about them."

Alfred's brow ticked, looking at the Cuban with a slight glare, "Just shut up while you're ahead."

Anyone could take the piss out of Alfred all they wanted, but don't drag his citizens into it. Most of them had hardly done shit to earn it, and it was a pet peeve of his that the bastards around him hadn't caught onto yet.

"I said your citizens are shitty-"

"Yes, Cuba, we all heard what you said." The voice was soft and warm and startled Alfred so much he nearly jumped.

Finland appeared like a ghost behind him, Sweden and the others lingering not too far back. Cuba opened his mouth, probably to snap back and say something he'd likely regret later, but one glare from the Swede had him closing his mouth with a snap and stalking off with only a glare shot at Alfred. Denmark laughed raucously as the crowd dispersed with silent prompting from Sweden, throwing an arm around the American nation. Alfred watched his family exit the room with a sinking heart; they didn't even stay to see if he was upset.

"Finland took care of that, huh?" He smiled widely, "He's pretty scary when he gets going."

The Finn watched Arthur, Francis, and Matthew exit the room with a sad gaze before turning his eyes to Alfred, "Everyone is getting too egotistical if they think the can say those things about fellow nations. Just ignore them."

"I always do." Alfred gave a lopsided grin, slipping out from Denmark's arm, "Thanks for all that."

"It's not a problem. You were nice to sit by, America. It was a pleasure to be able to spend time with you; despite friendly relations between our countries we barely see each other."

"Yeah!" Denmark nodded, "We should go drinking one night! I'll buy!"

The American cringed inwardly at the thought of alcohol; it only reminded him of a drunk and harsh Arthur. Nevertheless, he smiled at the Dane and nodded slightly, "I'm sure that'd be fun. I should…probably go. Canada and the others are probably waiting for me."

That was a lie, and he felt like all five of the Nordics knew it just as well as he did.

"Of course." Finland reached forward to grip his shoulder slightly, "Just don't forget what I said."

Alfred nodded, lips twitching up into a genuine smile, "I won't."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hope you enjoy it! I'm a lazy bitch and used all the same translations so yeah (except for that last one heh try and figure that sucker out).**_

 _ **TRANSLATIONS! (Thank you so much to Quarter-blood99 for translating Finnish for me!)**_

 _ **Finnish:**_

 _ ** _"Ari, missä olet?" = "Ari, where are you?"_**_

 ** _"Olen täällä,_** **isä** ** _!" = "I'm here, papa!"_**

 ** _"Nyt." = "Now."_**


	3. Chasing Ghosts

_**Chapter 3: Chasing Ghosts**_

* * *

Paperwork was truly his nemesis. Now, Alfred wasn't _that_ far into the hero facade he put up to think he actually had a supervillain nemesis. If he had to choose one, though, it'd be paperwork. The words sat on the stark white sheets, swimming through his vision as Alfred bounced his foot up and down, trying in vain to stay focused. He was so much better with the social cues of this job he shouldered as a personification. He could talk to people all day, every day. That wasn't an issue. The problems cropped up when he sat down at his desk, piled higher than the heavens with stacks of forms and legislation and propositions and issues, and he tried to read through it all. He signed his signature when needed, tossed a few ridiculous proposals away, and- was interrupted by a knock on the door. A rather loud one, at that.

Standing, he briefly stretched and wondered who the actual _hell_ would be visiting his apartment right now. Next month was when he hosted, about two weeks from that day, and usually, countries tended to stay away from his house like he was contagious. Perhaps they were scared, or maybe annoyed, but they did the same to Russia and England, so he supposed it couldn't be for only _bad_ reasons, right? Sliding his slippers on, he glanced down at his sweats and t-shirt with a cringe. Hopefully, it was just Mrs. González from next door; she always said he didn't eat enough and brought over pork tamales whenever she made them. She'd seen him in worse outfits than this.

Peeking out the peephole, he blinked and jolted back before looking again to confirm what he'd seen. Denmark himself, in the flesh, grinning like a kid on Halloween. Blinking, he opened the door slowly, watching the other's face brighten at the sight of him. Well, that was new. Usually, Japan and Israel were the only ones he could look forward to smiling at the sight of him. Well, them and Matthew. That was his brother, though, so it didn't _really_ count.

"Um, Denmark." He pitched his voice lower so his neighbor watering her potted plants on the stairs next to them wouldn't hear, "What are you, uh, doing here?"

"Just visiting!" The Dane laughed brightly, "Cozy place here, huh? Took me forever to find. I had to text Columbia."

"You mean _Canada_?" Alfred hissed quietly, grabbing the other man by his coat sleeve, "Come in, get off the stairs."

He closed the door firmly behind him, the door knocker outside rattling slightly in their wake. Alfred sighed, moving towards the kitchen, Denmark following close behind. he gestured at the table, where a fruit bowl set on top of a soft blue tablecloth. The other nation obediently took a seat, looking around him with wide eyes.

"Nice place you got here." Denmark whistled appreciatively, "Pretty cozy though, isn't it? Figured you'd have a house or at least a penthouse."

"It's cheap and I like the neighborhood. Great families around here." Alfred sighed, moving to the fridge, "Water? Coffee? Juice box?"

"Juice box?"

The American sent him a dirty look over the fridge door, "I babysit...besides, they're convenient."

"I'll take water." Denmark laughed, kicking his feet up on another chair, "Damn, have any of the other countries been to this place? Looks like a nice old grandma lives here. Are those _doilies_ -?"

Alfred slammed a glass of water down a bit too hard, making the table rattle, "Mrs. Conn knits."

"And why does it smell like pie in here? Do you burn candles-?"

"Occasionally!" His voice pitched a bit higher in embarrassment, "Yankee Candle is perfectly respectable, and I got some for Christmas!"

"From _who_? France? _England_?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Cooper!" He huffed, "Are you here just to criticize my house?"

"Nah, I was here to go grab a few beers. I figured you'd live in the thick of New York City so there'd be a bar or something, but..."

"There are bars around Hamilton." Alfred sighed, "Uptown is already open. It's just down Broadway."

"Don't you have a car?"

"In Manhattan?"

"That's a point." Denmark shrugged, "I'm guessing you're not going in fuzzy eagle slippers?"

"No." The American downed the rest of his own water before trudging off to his bedroom, "I'll be out in a minute."

* * *

Saying Matthias was shocked would be an understatement. He'd expected a penthouse in the city, maybe a huge mansion on the outskirts of New York. What he got, however, was a nice, quaint apartment in Hamilton Heights up in northern Manhattan. Children ran around the streets, playing basketball or tag, chalk covering the sidewalks and pretty flowerpots by the doors. He figured America would be a party animal, maybe a heavy drinker, maybe a fast food enthusiast. He figured beer bottles or burger wrappers would litter the floor, and the whole house would be a mess. Instead, the apartment was well kept and had candles on doilies, blankets covering chairs and couches, and carefully framed photos sitting on a mantel. A flag hung over the table in the small living area, an old antique one with thirteen stars. Beneath it, several medals and badges were framed and displayed.

It didn't look like what he imagined the young nation's home would be. Hell, a stack of coloring books and a box of crayons were nestled on a table in the corner for what Matthias assumed was babysitting purposes. What sort of nation _babysat_? Even Finland didn't do that!

Leaning against the arm of the couch, he waited until he heard footsteps coming down the hall and blinked at seeing the American in simple skinny jeans and a shirt with a jacket. It was more casual than he'd ever seen the other nation, meetings usually being more formal and monotone in regards to wardrobe. Most wore the same thing to every one. Liechtenstein occasionally wore a different dress or bow, but even she was more subdued. Morocco was the only one he could think of that frequently spiced things up with clothing, but Matthias was pretty sure not even a thunderstorm could put a damper on that woman, let alone a bland meeting.

"Ready?" America raised an eyebrow, opening the door.

As soon as they stepped outside there was a collection of shouts.

"Al! Al!" A small gaggle of kids waved at him from down the street as they approached, "Wanna play?"

A girl offered up the basketball, scuffed up but still usable, with a smile that showed a single tooth missing. She was maybe seven, with dark curly pigtails and wide olive eyes, and the boy that shoved up beside her looked just the same.

"Yeah! You're the best at basketball!"

"Sorry, Vanessa, Tony, I'm showing a friend around." Alfred gestured at him, smiling placatingly, "Tomorrow, maybe?"

"Leave the poor boy alone!" The mother, watching over the group of children but appearing to be the parent of these particular ones, snapped her fingers, "You take up enough of his time on Fridays. Both of you, now!"

"Yes, _mamá_."

Another girl skipped down the street, following behind them, "Did ya see our chalk?"

"Yeah, kinda hard to miss, Lottie."

"Charlotte! Get back here! _En seguida_ , _niña,_ don't make me ask again!"

"I still don't know what that means." She shrugged, blonde braid bobbing over her shoulder, "See ya later! Dad said to thank you for fixing mom's flower pot, by the way!"

"No problem." The American chuckled as she fled back to the matronly woman, "Kids. There's so damn many of them around here, especially in these apartments. There's a school two blocks over, so this is a popular family neighborhood."

"I can tell."

"The bar is just down here. Maybe a ten-minute walk." He nodded on down the street, "Shouldn't take too long."

It actually took around six minutes before they were standing outside, America pushing the door open. They were greeted with loud laughter, the TV going in the corner, the thick stench of alcohol, and a small radio playing music up by the bar. Matthias smiled; his kind of place. He followed his fellow nation up to the bartender, the younger man holding up his hand to get the man's attention.

"One Old Fashioned and..." The American glanced to him, gesturing towards the lineup of drinks.

"I'll take a glass of Hennessy." Matthias raised an eyebrow at the look he got from the nation next to him, "What? That's popular in New York, right?"

"Yeah." The blond snorted, "Pretty strong, though."

He shrugged, "Can't be too bad. Bet you're more of a lightweight, though?"

"Why do you say that?" The American scowled as he flashed his fake ID, "I drink. I've drank."

Laughing, Matthias shook his head, "You babysit, live in a family friendly block, and have a moderately clean apartment. I'm going out on a limb here and saying you're usually sober."

"I just don't like drinking." America took a seat at the bar as their drinks were brought out, "Bad memories."

"Prohibition?" Denmark raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, you did have a lot of stuff going on then. Illegal stuff, that is."

The younger snorted before sipping his drink, his face wrinkling at the taste for a moment. Matthias was vaguely amused; America really was such a child. He was young in terms of nations and his physical body, and while he could be intimidating and powerful, it seemed like he loved kids. Like he wanted a nice family. It made him sort of sad, thinking about that and comparing it to what the nation actually got; France, England, and Canada. The Canadian seemed pretty nice, but he mostly followed France and England like a lost puppy. Then again, America did too, it's just they liked Canada and let him stay.

"Prohibition sucked, dude." America grimaced, "Like, Al Capone is cool in legends and all, but when there are turf wars going on in your cities it's pretty scary. I had a lot of bloody noses, I'll tell you that."

"I bet. Didn't Romano stay over here a lot around that time?"

"Yeah." The blond scoffed, thinking of the Southern Italian, "Talk about a pest. He was so involved with bootlegging, it was ridiculous!"

"Really?" Matthias rolled his eyes. Nowadays, the two Italians were very...gun shy, to say the least. They were brave when needed, but other than that...

"Yeah. Anyways, drink up. It's on me."

"Thanks." The Dane spared him a grin before ordering another glass.

"I don't get many visitors, so." The American shrugged, "Might as well enjoy it while it lasts."

* * *

America had enjoyed it too much. _Way_ too much. After three very strong drinks and a couple of whiskey shots, the kid was blacked out and Matthias was left half dragging him down the street back to his apartment. He really hoped all those kids were inside with their parents or else this would get really awkward, really fast. Turning down America's block, he trudged his way to the nation's door.

The young nations murmured in his blackout state, senseless words spilling out, " _Var är du_..."

Matthias froze, blinking as his brain caught up with the babbled nonsense. Why the hell would America know Swedish? True, it wasn't an uncommon language, but...the majority of his population spoke English or Spanish. Even Chinese, he'd think, would be a second or third choice before Berwald's language. So why was America muttering Swedish in his alcohol-induced coma?

Glancing around, ensuring no nosy mother was peeking out the windows, he slid the key out from the plant pot he'd seen America place it under. Unlocking the door and nudging it open with his hip, he got his fellow nation in by hooking his hands under his armpits and dragging him. Carefully, or as carefully as Matthias could, he dropped the sleeping blond onto the soft couch and sighed, looking around. There had to be a bathroom around here somewhere, and he had to take a major piss.

Looking down the hallway he's seen America come out of when he'd changed his clothes, he flipped the light switch on and began the hunt. There were a couple doors he opened, one being a broom closet and the other he assumed was the American's bedroom. He closed it quickly, not wanting to impose by looking around the quaint, square room. The third one he tugged open had a set of stairs leading down to what the Dane assumed was a basement. Maybe a basement bathroom? He was willing to give it a shot. Flicking the lights on here too, and honestly hoping this wouldn't drive America's electric bill up any, he blinked when he reached the end of the stairs. Piles upon piles of boxes that held who knows what were stacked up against the wall to Matthias' right and shelves on the left had carefully folded clothes that he quickly realized were actually military uniforms and old dress clothes alike.

"What a museum wouldn't kill for these." He muttered as he picked up a dog tag and looked at the shiny metal.

His phone rang suddenly, making him jump as the necklace clattered back against the others. Sighing, he dug it out of his pocket. Tino. Great. What he _definitely_ wanted right now was to be mother henned to death when he had to go so bad he was nearly floating in his shoes. Looking around still, he accepted the call.

"Hey-!"

 _"Where are you?"_

"Oh, um..." Matthias chuckled slightly, "Forgot to tell you, didn't I? I decided to take America up on his offer for a night out drinking. Bars in New York are _great_ , by the way!"

 _"You're the one that offered to go drinking. Are you telling me you just barged into his home?"_

"Nah, he invited me in." He protested, "Right now I'm looking for a bathroom, though, so-"

 _"You really need to let us know these things, Matthias. We were worried sick!"_

He felt guilt gnaw at him slightly, but he knew Tino was most likely the only one worried. The others gave him a bare minimum of twenty-four hours before blowing up his phone.

"Sorry, sorry. Figured I'd only be gone a day or so. Hey, did you know America speaks Swedish?"

Please take the bait, please take the bait, he pleaded silently into the phone as Tino made a surprised noise.

 _"Really? Does he know Finnish? Norwegian? Icelandic? They're pretty obscure in America, I suppose, but there's always a possibility."_

"I don't know, honestly. He was kind of blackout drunk when he spoke it."

 _"Blackout-? Matthias!"_

"How was I supposed to know he couldn't handle his alcohol?"

He heard the sigh from the Finn and could practically feel the disappointment radiating off the smaller nation even miles away, _"Matthias, you're responsible for him right now, okay? Don't let the poor boy run off into traffic!"_

"He's not a child, Tino. We're not responsible for anything he does." Matthias sighed, looking around at the basement. He saw a door huddled among the trinkets and clothes and boxes and darted for it, pulling it open.

 _"He's barely an adult, then_ _."_ The other nation argued, _"You see him at meetings. He always looks so sad and lonely. All I'm saying is try to make sure he doesn't get hurt_ _."_

Nearly crying in relief at the toilet in front of him, the Dane rushed to assure Tino, "I know, I know. I'll watch him until he's sober, okay? I guess I can America-sit for a night. All he's done so far is sleep, anyway. I really have to hang up now, sorry. I'll call you back."

Tino's response was cut off. When he opened the door again, it was with a much calmer demeanor. It was amazing what a couple glasses of Hennessy could do to a guy. Looking around, he saw a super old camera sitting on one of the shelves near the clothes, seemingly just catching dust. It had some accordion looking thing in the middle and was super bulky, a model 95 he read as he inspected the plate. Lukas was more into that photography stuff, he'd probably know what it meant, but to Matthias, it was really just shiny garbage. Autographed, he noted, by some dude named Edwin.

He knew Berwald would look down at his snooping, but he was curious about his drinking buddy's past. All he knew was that he'd gotten into one hell of a firefight with England and somehow won. Not on his own, given, but it was still impressive. _Especially_ since it knocked England down a few pegs in terms of ego. Picking up an errant letter tucked under a box, seemingly forgotten with the name and address on the front completely unreadable due to water damage. Slipping the paper out, delicate and crinkled with age and improper care, he could read a few words.

 _Matthew,_

 _Tell England to fuck off. I won._

 _The Reunited States of America_

Stopping dead in his tracks he tucked the letter back in the envelope and then shoved it under the chest again. Totally _not_ what he wanted to know. Civil Wars were touchy subjects and while he was totally invading America's privacy, he didn't want to invade it _that_ much. Looking at the chest itself, it was clearly an antique. A thin layer of dust covered it, and the latch was rusted, so it probably hadn't been opened in forever. Long lost facts about the American Revolution? Maybe embarrassing baby photos? Maybe embarrassing photos of _England_? The temptation was too strong.

The chest creaked as he pried open the latch, the hinges also rusted beyond repair. Looking in, a large linen blanket covered the entire top. A few stains and discoloration was apparent at the top, probably from setting in the trunk for ages, but Matthias just picked it up and sat it on the shelf next to the chest. Inside, a few toy soldiers were haphazardly tossed in. They were wooden and painstakingly carved and painted. By who, he had to wonder. The next thing was a leatherbound journal. He reached for it, curiosity peaking. Would this be the juicy gossip he wanted?

Inside the cover, in small and childish letters, a claim was written.

 _Property of Alfred Henry Kirkland._

Okay, so no one could ever know he snooped and found out America's name. Like, ever. Not even Tino or Lukas or Emil or Berwald, because they'd all definitely skin him alive. It's not like this was the first time he'd snooped, though, so he honestly couldn't bring himself to feel _too_ bad.

Turning the page, he grinned in anticipation, only for it to fall almost immediately. The page was written entirely in Swedish, like actual Swedish that Berwald spoke daily. Blinking, he glanced around and wracked his brain for the reason an _English Colony_ would know Swedish that young and write in his _journal_ with it?

Glancing over the page, Matthias felt his mind go numb. There was _no_ way. _No way_.

 _Kära Bok,_

 _Storebror England sa till mig att öva mitt skrivande här. Jag tror att han försöker lära mig engelska, men jag vet inte vad som är fel med pappas språk. Han vill också att jag ska kalla honom pappa, men han är inte pappa, så jag kommer inte. Jag saknar mina farbröder och föräldrar, men storebror England är trevligt också, antar jag. Jag bara verkligen vill ha min familj tillbaka._

 _Undertecknat,_

 _Ari Oxenstierna (Broder England sa mitt efternamn är Alfred Kirkland nu, men jag gillar fortfarande pappas namn bättre så jag ska använda det.)_

Is it bad the first coherent thought he had was that Tino would literally kick his ass to Russia and back for taking his son out drinking? Because that was totally the first coherent thought he had.

* * *

 _ **I'm back lmao BUT with an extra long chapter to say I'm super sorry and life just got the best of me. Hopefully, I'll be on schedule from now on lol. Also, don't worry, we see Alfred's dream later. We also get awkward Denmark questioning Al, but like, even more awkward because he knows he's questioning his own nephew lmao.**_

 _ **And yes imo Arthur would totally make Alfred's middle name Henry. And yes, Alfred DEFINITELY changed it to "Fuck" during the Revolutionary War just to majorly piss England off, but he tells everyone it stands for "Freedom" now. Only England knows the truth. Jones def came from John Paul Jones, another 'traitor' to Britain who actually only added the Jones on to his name to hide from the law. Al would be into that tbh.**_

 _ **And yes, good cameo to Edwin H. Land, props to those who got it.**_

 _ **I wrote this at 3 AM, by the way, so I hope you guys like it! Comments are much appreciated, but please don't totally roast me lmao.**_

 _ **TRANSLATIONS (Sorry if they're off lmao this is all old Google Translate):**_

 _ **Swedish~**_

 ** _"_ _Kära Bok,_**

 ** _Storebror England sa till mig att öva mitt skrivande här. Jag tror att han försöker lära mig engelska, men jag vet inte vad som är fel med pappas språk. Han vill också att jag ska kalla honom pappa, men han är inte pappa, så jag kommer inte. Jag saknar mina farbröder och föräldrar, men storebror England är trevligt också, antar jag. Jag bara verkligen vill ha min familj tillbaka._**

 ** _Undertecknat,_ **

**_Ari Oxenstierna (Broder England sa mitt efternamn är Alfred Kirkland nu, men jag gillar fortfarande pappas namn bättre så jag ska använda det.)"_**

 ** _"Dear Journal,  
_** ** _  
Big Brother England told me to practice my writing here. I think he's trying to teach me English, but I don't know what's wrong with dad's language. He also wants me to call him Father, but he's not my dad, so I won't. I miss my uncles and parents, but Big Brother England is nice too, I guess. I just really want my family back._**

 ** _Signed,_**  
 ** _Ari Oxenstierna (Brother England said my last name is Alfred Kirkland now, but I still like my dad's name better so I'll use it.)"_**


End file.
